Memories Regained
by MyRibbonsRed
Summary: What if Tara's tirade had jogged Eric's memory at the end of S4E5? Eric plays up his advantage over Sookie, but they still have to deal with the witch. Eric, Sookie, Pam, OC.
1. Chapter 1

**_Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. _**

**_This is an alternate universe of Season 4. _**

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><p>"Keep the fuck away!"<p>

Eric didn't know who this screaming girl was, but his protective instinct responded instantly to her aggression, and his pride to her absurd waving of that fireplace poker. She didn't actually think she could intimidate him, did she? And he was not about to let a weapon of any kind get within range of his precious Sookie – this strange, fierce, fragile, and beautiful girl who had protected and sheltered him, this girl for whom he had only the most tender and gentle feelings.

"Keep away!" Tara screamed, still waving the poker.

He grabbed the poker and dropped it, taking a protective stance in front of Sookie, his face twisting into a snarl.

"What the hell is he doing here?"

"I live here." He growled. Why did this girl seem so familiar?

"What? You told me he was missing." The girl's body was rocking left to right in a fighter's crouch. Eric readied to spring – if she made the slightest move toward Sookie, he'd open her throat.

"It's not what you think," Sookie pleaded. The situation was deteriorating rapidly and she wasn't sure how, or even if, she could keep it from getting worse. _Oh God, please don't let my best friend get eaten by a amnesiac vampire in my brother's gym shorts. This week has been about as bad as I can take._

Tara inched toward the door, shadowed by Eric, still ready to protect Sookie from this hostile, infuriatingly familiar girl.

"I just poured out my heart to you, and you talked about telling the truth an' being honest, an' meanwhile you got somebody who wants to kill me in your basement? You're a fucking hypocrite!" The girl dodged toward the door. Panic and rage rolled off her.

"Tara, wait!" Sookie was almost as scared as Tara – She'd been back for what, a couple of days? And here she was about to lose her best friend for a second –and no doubt the final- time. "Something happened. He's different. He's not going to hurt you!"

"He's a psycho-murdering asshole!"

"No, he's not."

Tara's natural temperament – fury – overtook her panic as she turned on Sookie. "You got a short goddamn memory," she spat. "This is the fucker who sold you out to Russell Edgington. He tricked you into drinking his blood! He locked Lafayette in the dungeon, and tortured him! You _hate_ Eric Northman!"

Sookie said something in a soft voice, and the girl screamed back and ran from the house. But Eric didn't hear it. Russell Edgington. Russell Edgington… A face wavered in his memory, a dim stirring of anger. He'd been ready to trade his life for vengeance… a vampire who'd butchered his family… his father. Suddenly he saw it all like glass. Tricking Sookie into drinking his blood? Oh, he remembered that, it was too delicious. The bullets she'd so heroically sucked from his chest, the sweet satisfaction he'd felt, knowing exactly the dreams that would follow. Locking Lafayette in the dungeon – yes, that too - that weasely, sniveling dope-dealer– and the dungeon, the dungeon below Fangtasia, the club he ran with Pam. Pam… Where was Pam?

It all came back to him.

Those goddamn witches had cast some kind of spell on him. He'd drain them all, and finish them through a paper shredder. They'd be gurgling blood and _begging_ for death before he was done.

But Sookie. With dawning horror, he realized how completely unmanned he'd been in front of this girl he'd lusted after for so long. Lost in the road, like a dog. Coddled in her lap, crying. Drunk. Put to bed like an invalid. Like a fucking _child._

It was more than his vanity could bear. He was a monster, goddamn it. A predator. He had never required -nor indeed, allowed himself to ask- the aid of anyone for his personal safety, much less a _human_. And _this _human, of all people. It made him sick. It was intolerable.

His stomach rolled as his mind raced. There had to be a way to turn the situation to his advantage, of salvaging his pride, of claiming this girl as his own, and _forever _- and not as some effeminate, pathetic crybaby, but as the bloodsucking, cunning, and merciless Viking he had been for the last thousand years. His pride demanded it.

She would have to come to him. It was the only way: later, when he possessed her, body and soul, she would have to remember it was she who had broken down. She would have to know he had tricked her, only pretended to be so weak, and still want him desperately despite it.

Or failing that, at the very least wonder for how long he'd had his memory back.

All of which meant he was going to have to play the invalid a little longer. He didn't like it, but it was a small comfort to know that it was a lie.

He looked down, glanced shamefaced at Sookie – oh, it killed him to act so pathetic– and sank down onto the couch, trying to look defeated. She frowned, clearly disturbed that he seemed pained, and sat down beside him.

"Did I really do all those terrible things your friend said I did?" He kept his voice soft, and studied her with fresh fascination, placing her against all his memories again. His gaze traced the fine bone structure of her cheekbones, the gold streaking through her hair. So close. Finally, so close.

"Yes," Her eyes were soft and trusting. Her guard was down – really down, and it made him positively ache. Had she ever allowed herself to be this vulnerable to him before? He didn't think so. _Goddamn,_ but she smelled like heaven on a spring day.

"Then your pain is my fault. Why are you letting me stay with you?"

"Because there's more to you than your worst self. I always knew there was decency in you – even when you were a smug, sarcastic ass – I still knew it."

_ A smug, sarcastic ass, is it? _He_ was_ beginning to feel pretty fucking smug, as a matter of fact. He almost let a smirk slip before answering her. He was really warming to this work. He couldn't remember the last time he'd enjoyed himself so much. But then, as flooding and fresh as all the memories of his life were at the moment, he didn't care to try.

"Whether decency is in me is irrelevant. I'm clearly capable of extreme cruelty." He hoped he wasn't overdoing the beaten-puppy look, and fought down contempt for this feigned weakness.

"You were. But I wouldn't be here with you now – I swear it – if I didn't know in my heart you could change… I've seen you change, and I like it… I like you."

Something suddenly twisted inside him. Was it guilt? Affection? It was surely pain of some kind. It couldn't be guilt. Eric Northman did not _ever_ burden himself with guilt. It wasn't a rule. It was a natural law. And love – that was simply absurd. It was only the pain of playing the fool, and it would end soon enough. Time to go in for the kill – bring her to him, against her better judgment or no.

"There's a light in you… it's beautiful. I couldn't bear it if I snuffed it out." He gave her one last long, love-pained look, and shoved away the alarming sensation that he was no longer sure whether he was lying. He stood up and walked out. He hadn't even crossed the porch before he heard her rise from the couch and move toward the door. He kept walking, kept his head down. He would have her. He could almost taste it.

"Eric!" He wheeled, his blood heating at the urgency in her tone. "Please don't go."

How long had he waited to hear that sound in her voice? He crossed back toward the house slowly, relishing his regained memories of her: the kiss in his office, when he thought he was doomed; drinking that liquid light that was her blood with Russell Edgington; every conflicted, charged look she'd ever given him. He almost forgot the humiliation he felt at being rendered helpless and driveling in her care as she raised her arms to embrace him. And then the kiss… the press of those sweet, wet lips, the willingness of her soft body rocking against him, her very _need _for him – for a moment he was back to remembering nothing at all. Nothing but her, and sweet intoxication.

Lovely as it was, it didn't last. As he gently lifted her off her feet and carried her toward the house, covering her mouth with his, his right hand tangled in her golden hair and his left arm wrapped around her thighs, fingers twisting in the lace of her panties at her hip, he was already plotting. Would he tell her casually after they'd made love? …Maybe after the third or fourth time? Or would he wait another few days, and draw this out? She was too consumed to notice as he finally allowed his lips to curl into an old characteristic smirk of satisfaction.


	2. Chapter 2

Sookie was utterly exhausted. Every muscle radiated a delicious ache. Curled up against Eric's chest, soaked in sweat and chill against his skin, she was ready to slide into the serene sleep of fresh love. Eric stared at the ceiling, one hand tucked behind his head and the other tracing patterns on Sookie's back. His eyes were lidded like a drowsing cat. He could hardly have been more pleased with himself.

"Mmmm," Sookie snuggled up closer to Eric. "That was… well that was just amazing."

"Which time?" Eric murmured into her hair.

"Do I have to choose?"

Eric chuckled. "Well I for one particularly enjoyed the part when you seemed to be hyperventilating,"

"Well that's not very nice," Sookie propped herself up on her elbow to look into his eyes.

"Oh, how wrong you are," Eric smiled. "It was _very_ nice. You don't have the slightest concept of how sexy you are, do you?"

"Are you kidding? You know how much easier my life would be if every vampire I met didn't look at me and see Marilyn Monroe singing them 'Happy Birthday'?"

Eric chuckled again, and rolled over onto his forearms, pinning Sookie beneath him. "Hardly. Her charms were very overrated, if you ask me." He tucked a lock of hair away from her eyes, musing. "Like a rabbit in the road, that girl – no fight or fire in her, like my feisty little Sookie." His eyes flicked from Sookie's gaze to her lips and back. His mind began to wander away from their conversation and back toward the activities of the last four hours.

"You _knew _Marilyn Monroe?" Sookie's eyes widened.

"Only well enough to know I wasn't missing too much." Mischief snapped in his eyes. "I had her over for dinner once or twice - but I daresay she would not have…remembered me." There was something alarmingly familiar about that smile, but it took Sookie a minute to put her finger on it.

"Gosh. I guess I don't ever think about what it means to –" Her body went rigid. Eric pretended not to notice as he bent and kissed her ear, sliding her arms above her head and settling his hands on her wrists as he licked the fresh puncture wounds on her neck. When she spoke again her voice was as taut as the muscles in her stomach which had just bunched up.

"Eric. How do you suddenly have fifty-some-odd-year-old memories?"

"hmmm?" He was still absorbed in the work at hand.

"Eric. _Eric!_" Her voice jumped several octaves when she tried to jerk away and found his hands locked around her wrists like granite.

He drew back and looked at her. "Your friend Tara should be a therapist. Really, she's quite good."

"_What!" _She writhed in his grip as he smiled at her. "Eric Northman, you'd better let me go right now, or so help me God –"

"I will let you go. After I explain."

"Holding me down naked while you're explaining's not exactly going to help win me over, Eric. Let me go. Right now!"

"Why are you so angry?"

"You _tricked_ me! Let me go!" She continued to struggle beneath him, which accomplished little but to rouse his amusement.

"You mean you're only interested in the Eric Northman who doesn't even remember his own name, and not the one who's saved your life a half a dozen times? Ouch, Sookie."

"Oh give me a break. You're not hurt. You have to have feelings for them to be hurt. And if you've ever saved my life, it was only so you could use me again later on. I don't have a reason in the world to trust you."

His hands tightened suddenly on her wrists as he lowered the full length of his body onto her tossing form. He leaned in close to her ear and whispered, "Stop. The way you're moving is… distracting." He rocked his hips against her for emphasis, and she stilled, breath catching in her throat.

He drew back and looked into her eyes. "You're wrong on all counts. You do have a reason to trust me: I have only ever lied to you once –about that rune you found on that werewolf- and I gave you the truth almost immediately. Compare that with the lies Bill told you. Have you even counted them all? He lied to you repeatedly to protect himself, to manipulate your emotions. The only time I ever did it was to protect my hunt for the vampire who killed my family."

"You think comparing yourself to Bill is going to win you the honesty of the year award? You left us both for dead at Russell Edgington's house, and then you _turned me over_ to him. You locked me up in that crazy dungeon of yours. You think I'm just going to forget that?"

"If you have a failing, Sookie Stackhouse, it's that you've relied so heavily on your telepathy that you have failed to develop any intuition whatsoever. Did it even occur to you that I was powerless to dispossess a 3,000 year-old vampire of his new toy? At best, he would have recaptured you and lost his trust in me, which was my sole weapon against him. As for turning you over to him, he would have had you one way or another. I am sorry to have used you as bait. It was the only way to destroy him and to save you. Hopefully you will eventually see that."

Sookie was speechless, just staring up at Eric. After a moment he released her wrists and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. This wasn't nearly as fun as he thought it was going to be. She really was very hurt: he could sense it. And it made him far more uncomfortable than he could have predicted. Her discomfort would only be disconcerting to him if he had feelings for her – if he actually did care deeply about her. But she only seemed to loathe him.

Which made him almost as angry as realizing how deeply he cared about her.

"When were you going to tell me you had your memory back?" She scooted back until she was leaning against the wall, drawing the sheets around her.

"I just did."

"You know what I mean! You manipulated me. I can't believe I even helped you." She threw back the sheets and grabbed her bathrobe, flinging it around her as quickly as she could manage. But Eric was in front of her before she could get to the door.

"Don't act so self-righteous. It's unflattering. You may have had conflicted feelings about me for some time, but you know you _do have_ feelings for me. You just won't allow yourself to experience them." As he spoke he advanced several paces on her, and she backed up until she bumped against the wall.

She was furious. And conflicted. And… she wasn't sure what else. Was this relief she was feeling that Eric had his memories back? That he was himself again? Had she picked up on that somehow before they'd made love and refused to acknowledge it? No, that wasn't possible. But the way his eyes were fuming… She clung to furious, for the moment. Furious was good. But it was shock which overcame her when Eric suddenly pressed against her and kissed her. Deeply, passionately. She was so shocked, in fact, that she found herself responding to him, yielding to his hand, one at the small of her back pulling her forward against him, the other circling her neck as he kissed her. Her breath was coming short, everything was going black and red again. No!

She drew back and slapped him, taking a gulp of air, trying to make her head stop spinning. Where was she? Oh yeah, furious.

"Feelings for you? Sure, I have feelings for you. I hate your guts, Eric Northman. You're conniving and heartless and cruel. You enjoy watching others suffer. I could never love someone like that."

Eric's temper shot up, and it was all he could do to keep it leashed. He could only try to reciprocate, and hope that Sookie's control was somewhat less than his own. The plaster creaked as he pressed his hand into the wall by Sookie's face, leaning close in to play his trump card.

"Maybe things have moved a little too quickly for you to properly assess the difference in you since you the first night you walked into Fangtasia," he began in a quiet and deadly tone, "but I see it, even if you do not. What was it you said when I asked you how the crystal urn carrying Edgington's dead lover had been cleaned out? Oh yes. 'I poured that motherfucker down the garbage disposal.' I believe those were your exact words, were they not?" Sookie's mouth fell open, and she felt herself sinking into her heels. The storm in Eric's blue eyes flashed as he continued. "I can assume you were not playing good Samaritan and helping Ginger clean up? That you rather _enjoyed _watching Edgington's face as you... disposed of the love of his life?" The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile at the pun.

Sookie's hands clenched into fists as the blood rose to her face. "How _dare_ you use that against me! You know exactly-"

But she never finished. Eric grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her to him, locking his mouth onto hers, the switch of his tongue sending sparks up her spine. His hand pulled her waist back toward him, and this time she did not protest. He rocked against her, and the flames of her anger quickly began to smolder into flames of another kind entirely. She was beginning to see stars again. She shoved against him.

"No- "

But she barely pulled in a breath before he pulled her to him again. His hands were everywhere, and her resolve melted. She wanted him. As he was. Maybe they weren't so different anymore after all… Hadn't she told Bill not so long ago that she was meeting him halfway to vampire? And that was the last rational thought she had for awhile.

In one deft movement Eric lifted her off the floor and against the wall, opened her robe and drove into her. It was a piercing, delicious pain, none the less exquisite for being the fifth time that evening. After all, it was like being with a whole other man.

As waves of pleasure rolled through her, he pressed his lips against her ear and whispered, "Sookie. You. Are. _Mine._"

Something buzzed vaguely in the back of Sookie's mind: she was going to regret this at some point. At the moment, however, all she could manage was a helpless nod.


	3. Chapter 3

Spoilers for S4E5 & 6. _In this alternative universe, Pam never gave up Eric at Sookie's or went into whatever the heck that prison complex is under Bill's. I feel justified in this, as I find it a little difficult to believe anyway that Pam would, instead of shuttling Eric (and maybe Sookie) out of the country, or at the very least the state, decided it was fine to house him a football field away from a monarch who wanted and had the authority to kill him. So sue me. Actually, don't sue me, as I don't own any of these characters. I just play with them. I liked Barbies, too._

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><p>Eric watched the slow rise and fall of Sookie's chest. It was about 45 minutes before sunup; the room was brightening perceptibly. His gaze followed the curves of her skin, which seemed luminescent in the natural light. He would have to leave soon. He didn't like it. In fact, he didn't like any of this.<p>

In a thousand years, he had never been at the mercy of sentiment. Of bloodlust certainly, and anger more than he would care to admit. Sexual desire almost never. Although sex was no small pastime for him, he couldn't remember it ever having gotten the better of his judgment. But this was another animal entirely, this strange ache in his stilled heart. It made him feel weak, and he hated it.

_It would be so easy to break such a fragile thing_, he mused, his fingertips tracing her jawbone. Just a snap; she wouldn't even wake. And he would be rid of this humiliating pain in his chest.

Or he could turn her. Forever is a very long time, and surely she couldn't hate him for taking her human life from her for that long. She would be his, without question, until he desired otherwise. And as his progeny, she would have to obey him all things.

That was a surprisingly unappealing thought.

Besides, knowing her, it _was_ entirely possible that she could, in fact, hate him forever.

He sighed. He didn't even know if it was feasible. What would happen if he tried to turn a part-fay? Quite possibly, it would kill her.

The light was beginning to hurt his eyes. He slipped out of bed and into the absurd gym shorts he'd had on the night before. He was surprised to find himself staring at her from the doorway, so reluctant to leave; he wanted to kiss her again, to feel her lips once more before he went, but instead he stepped back over to the bed and carefully drew the coverlet over her small frame.

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><p>"What the fuck."<p>

The odor in Fangtasia was faint –too faint yet, for humans too pick up on, but not for Eric, and certainly not for other vampires, which unfortunately included the V-FEDs, of whom he was seeing far too much lately—and it was distinct. It was death, decaying flesh, which could only mean someone had killed and hidden a human on the premises. This was all he needed.

"Pam! What the fuck is going on!" He thrust open the door to the office and found it empty.

"I'm down here." Her voice echoed from the basement, which also seemed to be from where the smell was emanating.

_At least she's dealing with it._

But the door to the basement was locked, chained from the inside. That was… odd.

"Pam, why is the door locked?" Eric's patience had been thin on arrival and was growing leaner by the second.

"I'm spending the day down here. I'm not going to ground."

"Why?" His voice registered uncharacteristic and genuine surprise, and he took a step back from the door.

"Because, I stink! I'm not getting into my coffin, filthy like this."

There was a shower in the bar, which they had both used often; it occurred to him to ask what the hell was wrong with it, or for that matter why the whole place stank, but he was not in a mood to have a conversation through a door.

"Open the door, Pam."

"No."

"_Jag befaller dig!_" It came out as more as an indistinguishable roar than a phrase, but before his voice had ceased reverberating off the walls, he could hear her unlocking the padlock from the other side and sliding the chain away. The door swung open into the darkened stairwell.

Neither of them said anything for a moment.

"The witch," Eric said grimly, taking in her decomposing face and bloody eyes.

"I'm going to kill that fucking cunt!" Pam spat, a hanging flap of flesh on her cheek trembling in a particularly grotesque way.

"Not if I get to her first," Eric turned and led her back into the office to make a plan. The certainty of the calm, lethal mood that was settling over him set him more at peace than he had been in days.

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><p>Sookie awoke alone in the late morning sunlight; Eric must have gone to ground. She stretched luxuriously for a moment. She ached, that was for sure. For a moment she smiled to herself as she grabbed the extra pillow and curled around it, savoring sweet memories of the night before.<p>

Then she jerked. Eric had lied to her. Tricked her. _Slept_ with her, under false pretenses.

And she doubted it had been accidental that he'd let it slip that he'd gotten his memory back.

Worst of all, she hadn't cared. Well, at least not enough to kick him out _(not that I could have, with him owning the house and all). _She wondered briefly if her resistance to glamouring was deteriorating.

She sighed and headed downstairs after throwing her robe on. No, she was going to have to take this one squarely on the shoulders. Apparently, not even she was immune to the charms of the devious, self-serving, detestable .

She hated it.

As she approached the bottom of the staircase she wondered if he'd locked his cubby from inside. It would be very satisfying to climb down there and give him a good hard kick, even if it was, quite literally, while he was lying down.

But when she rounded the corner she found the doors of the armoire which disguised Eric's underground bedroom wide open, and stopped short.

"No way." It hadn't occurred to her that he might actually _leave_. She sank down into a chair opposite the armoire, stunned.

She gazed dumbly around, looking for other evidence of his departure, but of course he hadn't brought anything with him, so nothing was missing. Then something bright red caught her eye.

She rose from the chair and approached the dining table, where her great-aunt's vase had been filled with roses. _Where had he found roses before sunrise?_ On the table, next to the vase, was a note written on a sheet of her magnetic grocery pad. She had to assume he'd used the plain white back so as to avoid the side printed with kittens climbing curtains. Reluctant amusement bubbled in her, if only for a moment.

"Have to check in with Pam. See you tonight. –E"

Not exactly Casanova.

She sat down at the dining table to think. Maybe he really had to go. Maybe Pam had called him.

She glanced up at caught the time on the grandfather clock.

"Oh crap!" She scrambled up and raced up the stairs. She was due in at Merlotte's today for the opening shift - in fifteen minutes. It wouldn't be the first time she'd been late because her date didn't sleep until dawn. It wouldn't even be the third or fourth time. _Stupid, lying, effing vampires, _she fumed as she slammed on the hot water in the shower. She caught sight through the bathroom window of her only clean pair of shorts hanging on the line outside. She'd forgotten to bring them in last night, and they were undoubtedly damp with dew now. She groaned and cursed some more as she ran back downstairs to grab them.


	4. Chapter 4

"Welcome back, Sookie," said Arlene from her seat at the bar where she was working a newspaper crossword puzzle. She didn't turn around, and her tone hardly reflected the sentiment of her words. _Already late on her first day back, _Arlene was thinking. _Didn't take long to pick up with them vampers again. Won't be long 'till she'll only be able to work after dark, and dammit if I'm givin' up any of my closing shifts. _Arlene broadcasted like a cell phone tower.

"Why, thanks Arlene. That's awful sweet of you. I'll just make the tea."

"Oh It's already done. Like the lemons and the salad dressings and the silverware." Arlene didn't lift her head. Her bright red hair was half-pulled up into a hideous aqua fish clip.

Sookie sighed. "Arlene, I'm sorry I'm late on my first day back. I just overslept."

Arlene slid off the barstool. "You're gonna be sleeping permanently if you don't get them dead things outta your life. I mean it, Sookie. It's not like there ain't enough normal men around. It ain't natural." She grabbed her crossword and stalked into the back, hair swishing behind her.

_She's one to talk about normal men,_ Sookie thought before she caught herself. That wasn't very Christian. She sighed again and went to check the setups on her tables.

Fortunately, the day was downhill from there. Everyone else seemed genuinely glad to have her back, and it was nice to be in a familiar place doing familiar things. She tried to put Eric Northman out of her head. She had no idea what she was going to say to him when she saw him again, and she didn't feel like ruining her day worrying about it.

"Can I get you another beer?" It was about halfway through the dinner shift, and the bar was busy. Sookie had her shields up, and pointedly ignored the leers of the seedy, potbellied men seated at the booth in front of her. She set the empty glass on her tray.

"Yeah, I want me one of them Kingfishers," said the man closest to her. It was everything she could do to block the nasty thoughts that were running like a leaky engine behind the greasy grin.

"Coming right up," and she spun on her heel to walk back to the bar.

"You!" Sookie turned and was shocked to see a disheveled woman standing by the door of the bar, staring and pointing at her like the ghost of Christmas Yet To Come. What was even more disconcerting was that it was the same woman who had done her reading at Moon Goddess Emporium, the one Gran had told her to get good and clear of. She looked like she'd been through a war: her feet were bare and muddy; the green dress she was wearing was shredded like she'd been walking though brambles, and worse, it was spattered with blood. Her auburn hair was wild and so were her eyes. Not good.

"Me," she said cautiously.

"You will come with me now," said the woman. Her voice was a disturbing monotone. Was she in a trance of some kind?

"Actually, I'm working right now," she said slowly. "Maybe I can go with you… later."

"You are of fairy blood."

_Oh, shit._

All activity had stopped in the bar. Every set of eyes was moving back and forth between Sookie and the crazy Witch-Lady, as Sookie was thinking of her. The only noise was the jukebox, which was playing the opening guitar solo of "Free Bird."

"Uh, I think you got me mixed up with someone else," Sookie replied. Even to her, her voice didn't sound so steady. "Maybe is there someone we can call—"

"Marney?" Holly appeared from the back, setting a couple of plates of food on the bar. "Marney, what are you doing here?"

"_Proin ac silentio!" _The woman held up her hand and Holly drew up short, her mouth frozen open on a half-formed word. She turned back to Sookie.

"_Reditus__in__hac__puella __tibi__dico,__et congregavero vos__mihi. Reditus__in__hac__puella__tibi__dico,__et congregavero vos__mihi!" _

In alarm, Sookie felt her throat closing. Her muscles were locking up. Her tray tipped and the glass mug slid off and shattered on the floor. She could feel power radiating off the woman, a power that reached out and locked onto something deep inside her, and was pulling at it like a dog on a choker-chain. It was excruciating. She took a stiff step toward the woman, and another. She could not tear her eyes away.

To make the bizarre scene even less forgettable for Merlotte's clientele, two dogs then came barreling out of the back: a pit-bull and a collie, and both launched themselves at the woman in the green dress. She laughed, held up her hand, and to Sookie's horror, a familiar bright white flash shot out of the witch's hands and sent them flying back against the wall, into which they crashed with a sickening crunch, and fell and lay still. What was worse, however, was that Sookie _could feel the power being torn from her_. It was like she was a faucet someone had turned on. She could feel it being sucked out of her, and into the woman.

She struggled to speak, to tell the woman that she would go with her, not to hurt anyone else. But she couldn't say a word. Her heart was hammering.

"_Veni mecum,_" the woman said, and turned and walked out the door. Sookie followed like a marionette.


	5. Chapter 5

Bill was waiting outside with a SWAT team.

Or at least, that's what it looked like. A half-dozen men in black military uniforms, Kevlar, and black caps made a semicircle around the front of Merlotte's, their enormous guns trained on Marney and Sookie. They looked like they'd already seen some action, too. Several of them had tears and burns in their uniforms, and two were bleeding. They must have tracked her here. Was she valuable enough to this witch that she would risk some kind of escape to acquire her? If so, that was bad news. She was frozen in place, just by the door. The woman took several paces forward, and took a defiant stance, which reminded Sookie of that old movie line, _you'll never take me alive, coppers. _She fervently wished she were not standing directly behind her.

"Don't shoot the girl," Bill said slowly. It was not reassuring.

"_Reditus ex hac puella,"_ the woman said, raising her hands, "_meus ignis et mors!"_

"Fire!"

Sookie wasn't certain what happened next. There was a flash as bright as striking lighting from the woman's hands, and three of the men fell. She felt something rip out of her, like the fabric of her soul was tearing in half. It was unbearable. Bill stared, his eyes shifting from the witch to Sookie and back.

"Jessica, no!"

Sookie felt a _woosh _of air and barely registered Jessica's perfume as the baby vampire dashed by her from inside the bar to attack the witch from behind. The woman whirled and another searing pain ripped through Sookie as what literally looked like a bolt of lightning sent Jessica flying in an arc through the parking lot. She landed so far away that Sookie could barely make out the charred circle on her midsection. But she could see the smoke rising from her body just fine. Like the dogs, she lay still and did not move.

She felt her knees going weak. Her head felt like it was about to split open.

A blur passed through her peripheral vision and there, about a dozen yards away stood a female vampire, underneath one of the parking lot lights. _Is that really Pam?_ She wasn't sure what Pam would be doing on the set of _Thriller_, but that's exactly where she looked like she'd just been. Her skin was peeling off in huge sections, and the whole left side of her face looked like it was going to slide right off at any moment.

"Hey, you bitch! I'm going to turn your heart into a purse!" She yelled at woman in front of her. As the woman turned raised her hands in a snarl, a flying bolder knocked the wind out of Sookie.

When she opened her eyes a few seconds later, it was Eric Northman's face she saw above her. She tried to gulp air, registering only that she was laying on the gravel behind Merlotte's, that people somewhere were screaming, and that Eric was snarling with his fangs bared, and looking very, very pissed.

Then he sank his fangs into her neck and she screamed until everything went black.

* * *

><p>"Sookie."<p>

Something cold and slimy was pressed against her mouth. It tasted like iron.

Stars danced in front of her eyes. She didn't try to open them. Her ears were ringing and the whole world was tingling. _If this boat's a rockin'…_

"Sookie, drink."

It was a command, but she didn't trust it. There was a reason, but couldn't remember what it was. Were her hands shaking? Her eyelids felt like butterflies. Fluttering. Just like her.

"Sookie, you must drink."

She couldn't deny she was thirsty. Her body felt like a clothed cornhusk, a dried up old snakeskin. She imagined she might have even become translucent. Her head began to pound. She tried to swat the butterflies away from her eyes so she could see, but her arms were made of lead. Everything was so heavy. She was cold. From somewhere far away she heard voices.

"…heartbeat's slowing…"

"you'll have to…"

"how much did you…"

Her face was gripped in an icy vise, and her mouth dropped open. The cold slime was sliding down her throat. She jerked and coughed. Iron, again.

"No, swallow. Swallow it, Sookie."

She fought for air. She coughed, and swallowed, and coughed again.

A tiny flame was licking the walls of her belly. It began to spread, inch by inch, outward. The liquid didn't seem slimy anymore; it was turning into an icy magma burning her in bliss from the inside out. It was like drinking cold fire. She locked onto it, and pulled. The searing warmth continued to spread outward, and then into her limbs. Everything that had been tingling and hurting the moment before began to sing in the most pleasurable way. It was like climbing a fiery rope back into herself. Into life. The black fog in her mind began to roll away.

"That's better. You're going to be okay." A hand was stroking her hair.

After a few more moments her eyes fluttered open, and the sweet fire was forgotten as she jerked back in shock into something cold and quite solid. A monster was smiling at her.

"P-Pam?" She could hardly believe what she was seeing. She almost asked if she were dead, but stopped herself in time.

"Yes darlin. I'm gonna have to ask you a favor," drawled Pam in her put-on southern accent. She continued to smile, which was really terrifying.

The left half of Pam's face looked like it had been shot off. A wet, dark, spherical (ish) mass stood in place of her left eye, and her cheekbone was visible underneath what looked like a half a pound of ground chuck. nerves and blood vessels sagged beneath tattered, blue skin. She smelled like the time Sookie and Gran had come home from a cousin's wedding in Texarkana to discover that a storm had knocked the power out the day they'd left and they'd had to clean rancid meat out of the freezer. Her stomach started churning, and Pam's face suddenly doubled and went fuzzy in front of her.

"Okay Pam, just give her a minute." Eric's soft voice reverberated through her back.

She twisted around to see Eric's face close to hers. He was seated on the ground against the back wall of Merlotte's, and she was lying against his chest, between his legs. There was a lot of blood on his chin. Sookie thought he looked beautiful.

"You killed me," she whispered.

"Almost," he acknowledged regretfully. "I had no idea how drained you were already from the witch. I stopped as soon as you were out, but I think you must have been on your way already. She had leached far more from you than what you had to give, I think."

"Why did you drink from me like that?"

"She was channeling you. We couldn't bring her down with you there – she was drawing from you. As soon as you were unconscious, the others attacked her. She's dead, Sookie."

She shuddred. She was beginning to remember it, now. She shifted away from Eric and looked around. Holly, Sam, and one of the guys from the kitchen were huddled together talking by the corner of the bar. She blinked and tried to take the fuzzy edges off their shapes. She saw two of the SWAT guys standing together talking. One of them was smoking a cigarette. Jessica and Bill were standing not too far away. Jessica's looked like she'd been dipped face-first in ash – the whole front half of her body was covered in it. But she was standing, and seemed be moving alright. Bill looked askance at her plaintively. She locked her jaw on that and looked away – and back to Pam, whose gruesome smile made her shudder again.

"Yes, the witch is dead. Ding dong. Bringin' us to step two." Pam arched her eyebrow and a dime-sized piece of flesh fell off her face.

"Ow! Bitch please! I ain't gonna be no fuckin' help to you if you twist my arm off. I ain't goin' nowhere, I already told you!"

For the first time Sookie realized that Lafayette had been standing behind Pam, still in his work apron. She had his wrist in a vise grip.

"I know," she said sweetly, before he voiced turned cold. "It's just how I show my love."

"Hey, Lafayette." She felt weak, but it was reassuring to hear her voice.

"Hey, Sook. Glad to see you still with us." But he didn't look glad. He looked scared out of his wits.

Sookie shook her head and tried to stand up. She took a step, twisted and fell on her hip. Or she would have, if Eric hadn't been instantly there to catch her.

"You need some more," he said.

"I drank your blood?" He nodded.

"_Again?"_ Anger started building in her chest. "You… you asshole!"

"I don't know, Eric," Pam said. "She seems like herself to me."

After Eric's unsuccessful attempt to give Sookie yet more blood, an between Bill and Eric about Sookie's health which almost turned to violence, and a lot of coaxing to calm Lafayette into a sane, focused state, Jesus finally showed up in his white medical scrubs and they were able to get down to business. They marched out to the small swimming hole by Merlotte's for a little privacy and Jesus took over.

"We're not going to try to undo this the way she did it," he said. "We're just going to try to focus our energy to clear the hex. Like any other kind of healing, okay? Give me your hand, Sookie." The four of them joined hands, boy-girl-boy-girl. She heard Eric humming _Kumbaya_.

"Eric, shut the fuck up or leave." Apparently Pam's patience had run out.

"It's a Kodak moment," he smiled, leaning against a tree.

It was quiet after that. Lafayette and Jesus simply focused, and tried to draw on Sookie's energy. She closed her eyes and braced herself for the same kind agony the witch had caused -that terrible ripping sensation as if her organs were being yanked straight through her abdomen. Instead when it finally came, it seemed only like a firm pull, a tug on a line to which she readily gave slack. Maybe that was difference: she had been fighting the witch with everything she had.

Nothing seemed to happen for a minute. Then electricity surged through her, and she could sense herself being part of a circuit. Pam moaned, but she didn't open her eyes to check on her.

Finally the zinging sensation dropped away, and she could hear the bugs and the frogs again. She opened her eyes.

Pam still looked like she'd been run over by a truck. Twice.

"Uh, Pam?" She was afraid, and far more of Pam's wrath than of the magic. "How do you feel?"

"I feel thirsty," she snapped, and grabbed Lafayette by the throat. A second later she was drinking from it.

"Eric! Make her stop!" Lafayette was screaming like five-year-old girl.

Eric looked up, surprised. "Why? They did this in the first place."

"You're seriously going to let her kill him?"

"Relax, sunshine." Pam tossed Lafayette to the ground, and he scooted away into kneeling position, and from there launched himself into the woods like a howling marathon runner, quickly followed by Jesus. "The killing's done for this evening. Besides, even if I wanted to kill him I couldn't – the new AVL edict, you know." She rolled her eyes.

Eyes. She had two eyes, now, Sookie saw. Not just a mass of bloody tissue where her left eye should be. As she watched, the tissue started to slowly meld together. It was like watching a really disturbing time-lapse video of a decaying corpse, but in reverse.

"Pam." Sookie swallowed, and gestured to Eric without taking her eyes off Pam's face. "Pam, I think your face is healing."


	6. Chapter 6

"You know, when you wrote 'see you tonight' in your note, I thought you meant more like a date, not an appointment to nearly drain me to death. Again."

Sookie was standing by the tiny pier on the pond by Merlotte's with her arms crossed, blood spattered on her white shirt in a pattern that suggested she had been drinking it from a cup with a hole in it, and fuming. Pam had left only moments before when her face had acquired a new layer of skin; her triumphant smile at this development had been both chilling and premature, in Sookie's estimation: she was healing, no doubt about it, but while the skin was covering everything skin was designed to, it was hardly finished composing itself from the inside out. Thus Pam's smile had looked as if a musculature diagram had gained animation and a vampiric personality. It was not an image Sookie would forget any time soon. She felt a wave of pity for whoever crossed Pam's path tonight. Doubtless they would be down a few pints of blood and up a fierce reoccurring nightmare for their ill luck.

"I saved your life. Why are you not pleased?" Eric pushed away from the tree he had been leaning against and meandered slowly towards her, hands in the pockets of his black jeans. The gesture, combined with his signature slouch and black leather jacket, suddenly reminded Sookie of James Dean, and for moment she wondered what Eric had been like in the '50s. _Probably the same – a total a-hole._

"Why is that 'rescue' and 'attack' are synonyms in your vocabulary, Eric? That is not normal."

"Thank you." Smiling, he closed the space between them, forcing her to look almost straight up to maintain eye contact. She took a step backward onto the pier in response. Having been tricked into sleeping with him, abandoned (or so she thought of it), controlled and drained by a witch covered in mud, shot at, and then drained by a vampire in a totally different manner, not to mention the loss of yet _another_ perfectly good work shirt-all in the last 24 hours-she was in no mood to flirt.

"Screw you, Eric." She moved to step around him, but he blocked her exit from the pier.

"Mmm, an invitation? I'd love to." His smile widened as he stepped to her again. He reached behind her and his fingers twisted around her ponytail, and without taking his eyes from hers, the fingertips of his free hand lightly brushed her collarbone, the curve of her neck, the hollow in her throat. She gulped as her heart sped up and she broke out in gooseflesh. His eyes kept her pinned; she wondered if this is what a rabbit felt like, hypnotized by a snake, just before it became dinner. His fingers tightened in her hair and he pulled gently; her head tilted back as he leaned in, lips parted and fangs showing. Was he going to kiss her or bite her?

But the thought of being prey had snapped her alert. _I am not a rodent, goddamn it, and whatever I'm feeling right now is because Eric gave me about a gallon of his blood tonight, after almost killing me. _

He caught her fist before it made contact with his jaw.

"Don't do that." For the briefest of moments Eric's dispassionate composure slipped as his voice dipped into an icy tone, and darkness flickered behind his eyes. The pressure of his hand around her fist quickly increased and in a moment it would make her squeal. _Angry_, she thought in surprise, as he released her hand and his face turned impassive once more. It was rare that she saw Eric project more than a cold indifference toward her, excepting his frequent attempts at seduction. Somehow it made her very uncomfortable.

"Let me go." She said unsteadily.

He considered this, and after a long moment moved to let her pass.

"You've had a long day, Miss Stackhouse," he said with surprising stiffness, but still smiling. "But I will be happy to take a rain check on your generous offer." And he was gone.

Something was definitely amiss. Eric's departure smacked of sulking, which wasn't like him. Sookie stared around and tried to collect her wits. Clearly, he had been expecting a very different attitude from her. An unpleasant thought struck her: surely he wouldn't have put her in harm's way with the intention of eliciting a particular response? She shook her head. That was absurd. She shivered, wrapped her arms around herself, and moved off through the trees toward her car.

Hidden in the damp shadows of the Louisiana night, Eric watched her leave with a cold fury lashing to escape his chest. It was driving him to madness that this human woman had him so bent, so distracted. He felt helpless, an emotion both foreign and unendurable. Something must change; she must love him or die. He could not suffer being her slave. He had risked so much in leading the witch close, and it had almost cost him everything: he had not anticipated that she would leash Sookie in such a way. He had expected only to kill her, rescue Sookie and possibly her human friends. In hindsight, it seemed pathetic.

Later he would reconsider this judgment, because if he hadn't given her so much of his blood that evening, he would never have felt the mental scream.


	7. Chapter 7

Sookie drove home in a state of war with herself. She hated, _hated_ that Eric had given her so much blood. But he had saved her life. And somehow she was relieved that it had been him, and not Bill. She was furious with him for deceiving her, but in fairness, she couldn't lay all the blame at his feet, as she had slept with him again after he had told her. And it was difficult to be angry at all when she thought of how incredible the sex had been. She allowed herself to linger on that thought for a moment, and felt her cheeks growing hot. She could not imagine that for the rest of her life she would ever know the equal of the blazing desire in Eric's wintery gaze, or the reciprocating flames it had kindled deep in her belly. For a moment all had been airless and still; for a moment the whole world been that fire in his eyes and the crippling passion she had felt for him. That frightened her, that she could have been so lost in him. But also compelling. She had spent her whole life trying to drive the world from her head, and Bill's silence had been like a cool, calm sea after a lifetime of brutal Sahara sandstorms. But Eric was another animal altogether; there was a raging tempest inside him, unpredictable and savage. She found it at once terrifying and irresistible.

By the time the driveway gravel was crunching under her tires, she was thinking that it wouldn't be so bad to see Eric again. She was even thinking it wouldn't be so bad if he were there, waiting for her when she got home. But the house was empty and dark. Slowly she peeled off her bloody shirt and shorts, tossing them with annoyance into the trash. Another uniform ruined. She climbed into a steamy shower and again thought of Eric; knowing that his blood was working tricks in her veins didn't help to keep the exciting images away. When she slept, she dreamed of him.

And the next night. And the next.

And then a week had passed and she had not seen him. But that was a good thing, wasn't it? He was selfish, he had no compassion. If you looked up "egocentric" in the dictionary, she suspected there'd be a photo of Eric Northman smack next to it, in color and grinning for the camera. But she could not stop thinking about the night they had spent together, and the multiplying fantasies that came unbidden. She spent her shifts at Merlotte's arguing with herself about whether her consternation was justified, and had to apologize repeatedly for the orders she switched and the drinks she forgot.

This wasn't like her. She had always known her own mind, had always been able to make a decision and then move forward without even glancing over her shoulder. More than anything she feared that when she saw him, whatever resolve she had managed to build against him would dissolve, melted by that fire in his eyes.

* * *

><p>"Eric, were you aware that I'm throwing a party for the Fellowship of the Sun in the bar tonight and that Ginger is having Russell Edgington's baby?"<p>

Eric's head came up. "What?"

"Ah. So you haven't lost your hearing. Good to know." She smiled. It was just after midnight, and Fangtasia was packed. Pam was dressed for business, in a dress Elvira would have hocked her eyeliner for with a scandalous neckline and red lace train. She and Eric were sitting on the stage in their throne-like chairs, playing their part in the allure of the vampire bar. At the moment, Eric felt a little ridiculous being a prop. He had other things on his mind. Other things being the whereabouts, activities, and mystifying thought processes of one Sookie Stackhouse. How had he allowed a human such power over him? Why did he care so much about her, when he had barely noticed human women since he had turned one into the vampire next to him a hundred years ago? And why had she not come to the bar looking for him – how could she possibly stand it, with all the blood he had given her? It was driving him to distraction, and he wasn't the only one.

"Eric, if you don't just go and get her, I swear I'll turn her myself. This is ridiculous."

Pam had spoken (mostly) in jest, but the thought had struck a nerve, and Eric's instant grip on her arm would have crushed the bones of a human. "Don't even think about it," he snarled, fangs bared. Pam rolled her eyes and looked out over the crowd. She caught the bouncer's eye and jerked her head imperceptibly toward the corner, where an undercover cop seemingly dressed by clerks at Hot Topic was soliciting V from random patrons. He had apparently thought that the High and Tight was not a giveaway. Cops.

"Lighten up. I only meant that you are not yourself since you regained your memory. All this moping and brooding. It's Bill Compton's M.O., not yours." She laughed. "Why, If I didn't know better I'd say you… no." Pam's sardonic smile disappeared as she turned back and saw the look on Eric's face. "Eric, no. Please tell me it's not true. You… you haven't… fallen in _love_ with a human… have you?"

"It's nothing." He looked away.

"The hell it is! You-"

"You have been overworked while I was gone, Pam. You should take the rest of the night off."

"Eric, listen to yourself. You know she's not going to-"

"I said go." It was barely louder than a whisper, but the look could have sliced flesh. Pam rose stiffly.

"Fine. I'll go change into my Chanel. I hate this dress anyway- the damn train always gets caught in the door."

But before she could stalk off, Eric jolted to a standing position and then disappeared in blurry streak of black out the door.

Pam rolled her eyes and sank back down. She glanced over toward the cop and smiled. The bouncer was slowly instructing him that he would leave the bar and to go straight to Wal-Mart, buy sandpaper, and find the nearest bathroom. The cop was nodding, his eyes empty and staring. It sounded as if he would be in enough discomfort tomorrow to dissuade him from returning. Good.


	8. Chapter 8

Sookie shut off the motor and sat still in the car for a moment, staring into the dark trees. It had been a long shift, and she was tired, the more so that she was losing the increasingly consuming argument about whether to go seek out Eric. She had sworn to herself that she would not do it, it felt too much like surrender. But she couldn't focus on anything else, and as she sat in the driveway and listened to the engine tick, she told herself she would just run upstairs and change, that she would go to Fangtasia, not to see Eric- but to be free of him. _So I'm lying to myself, on top of everything else. Terrific._

The door squealed as she threw it open. She got out, leaving her purse- she was coming right back. She checked the flowerbed and made a mental note to come out tomorrow and weed. That would be good, to be out in the sun in a bikini. Maybe she didn't have to go to Shreveport after all, maybe all she needed was some good old-fashioned yard work to relieve-

Was that… a music box she heard?

She turned slowly, trying to discern the direction of the music. Yes, it sounded just like the tinny, ethereal chiming of a music box. Was it Tchaikovsky? Something from the Nutcracker. It was coming from the cemetery. Before she had made up her mind to do it she found herself following the sound.

The animals seemed to have fled, or were cowering silently in their nests. Not a chip or a twitter sounded in the trees. As she wandered among the gravestones seeking the source of the ghostly melody, she finally placed the familiar, haunting music box song. It was the Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy. The hair on the back of her neck began to stand up.

She approached a light through the trees. It was a tiny pond, or an enormous puddle. Either way, it was a body of water that definitely had not been there yesterday. And if it had, she was pretty sure it would not have possessed the pulsing, pearlescent glow which drew her to it now. Sitting by the tiny pond was a long pale figure in loose white and gray linen with its back to her, and next to it on the grass lay an open, lacquered music box, exquisitely modeled with mother-of-pearl inlay and jewels.

"Sookie."

The figure turned to face her, and she found herself regretting that she had left her purse in the passenger seat with the small spray bottle of silver nitrate in the side pocket. But what lounged in the shadows of the trees was not a vampire. Was it?

The tall man slowly rose to his feet. There was a lithe grace about him that made him seem weightless. He was breathtaking, with close-cropped black hair curling around his iridescent face, and long, supple white arms. His features were so fine as to be almost feminine, but his presence and demeanor were very masculine, almost threatening. She wished the music box would shut off- the tinkling, eerie notes unnerved her.

"Sookie, I am Mael. Maab sent me for you."

Oh, of course. Who else would be sitting in the graveyard at night listening to a music box but a fairy? But it was hardly a relief, especially when she considered who he worked for: Maab was not on her Warm And Fuzzy list.

"Uh, great. Sent you to do what?"

"To bring you to Fairae, of course." He nodded at the glowing puddle and spread his hands, as if to say, _what else?_

"Well thanks, but a year was plenty. Everybody at home was really worried about me."

Darkness moved in Mael's eyes. He seemed to shimmer. "_Fairae_ is your home! The home your existence here continues to imperil! You lead a vampire to us? You attract a witch, who exposes you in front of a whole herd of humans? You will come with me, and we will seal the portal behind us!" His voice took on a strange dual timber-somehow there was a frightening harmony behind it. Sookie backed up a step.

"No, you creepy freak! Bon Temps is my home! I grew up here, my brother's here, my life is here! I'm not going with you to some other dimension!" She was furious, but her heart was knocking against her ribcage. She backed up again, wondering if she could outrun Mael.

The shimmer around him seemed to thicken. "Maab suspected you might be less than accommodating . But I was rather hoping for it." At this last he broke into a grin, and Sookie gasped as she saw his teeth for the first time in the dimness. It made her think of Jack O' lanterns, or a child's drawing of a monster with a single jagged line for teeth. It was a mouthful of daggers, a shark's mouth, or a crocodile's. "You see, we cannot allow you to endanger us all with your infatuation with the undead. If you will not come home… well." He shrugged, still smiling, but there was a crazed light in his eyes.

Sookie choked on a scream before she broke and ran.

She had only made it a few yards when he threw himself onto her and she pitched forward, cracking her temple on the corner of a headstone. She twisted around to try to push him off.

"Oh you gotta be shitting me!" When she turned around, Mael was in her face with a jagged foot-long dagger, which looked like it had been picked up at a yard sale at Beelzebub's house, and a psychotic grin distorted his features beyond recognition- how had she thought him handsome? She tried not to look at the teeth this close. When she went to shove the knife away, light flared from her hand and sent Mael flying backwards. She scrambled up and dashed on toward the house, thinking of the shotgun Jason had lent her. Then she heard Mael laugh, and nearly ran smack into him, stunned. How had he gotten in front of her?

"You use that diluted light on _me_, half-breed? Are you actually trying to hasten your death, or can you know so little of your cousins, of whom you are only a sad shadow?" He swept her legs out from under her, and the wicked knife was at her throat again. He seemed suddenly much stronger, and she could feel her muscles begin to tremble and buckle as she fought to keep the blade from sinking into her flesh. She felt a warm trickle on her neck. His eyes were bloodshot and wide as teacups. Through the clenched shark-teeth he whispered to her,

"End of the game, changeling." Her shaking muscles began to give and she felt the knife slip a centimeter into the soft skin of her throat. She cried out and squeezed her eyes shut. She didn't want to be staring into this madman's face when she died. She wanted to think of her parents, of Gran, of Jason.

There was a gust of air, and then Mael's weight was gone. For an instant she wondered if she were dead, but then she heard a bloodcurdling fairy screech that surely would have raised her, had that been the case. When she opened her eyes she saw Mael and Eric crouched and circling each other cautiously, like dogs.

Eric! Her heart leapt.

At the moment, however, Eric looked almost as frightening as the fairy. He had ripped into Mael's neck before being tossed off, and blood flowed from his snarling mouth, dripped from his bared fangs. He maneuvered until he was in a protective stance in front of Sookie.

Mael's wild eyes flicked from Eric to Sookie and back. He dodged toward her and Eric blocked him. He feinted and dodged again, again easily blocked. On the next pass the dagger came down on Eric's arm, and the blade hissed and smoked as it slashed through the skin. Silver. Eric staggered and almost dropped to his knee, then recovered. He howled and launched himself at Mael, and for the next few moments, Sookie could make out nothing but the blurs of black and gray of their clothing. When they stilled again, Mael had his back against a tree, bracing himself there and panting. He was covered in blood and wounds. Eric had smoking gashes all over his arms and torso, and blood spattered his face and clothes. He snarled and crouched again, deliberately licking the fairy's blood from his lips and beckoning with two fingers.

Sookie couldn't decide which one of them frightened her more.

She didn't see exactly how it happened, but several moments later Mael lay still, bent backward at a gruesome angle over a headstone, and Eric was tearing into his neck like an animal, a great fount of blood spewing from an artery there. As she watched Mael's skin began to sink and turn ashen. She tried to summon disgust, but she only felt a wave of relief and satisfaction at Mael's demise. She was safe. She sank to the ground and said a silent prayer. After a moment she realized her head was throbbing. She passed a hand over her forehead and wondered if she looked much better than Eric or Mael: between the cut on her forehead and the knife gash on her neck, she was covered in blood, herself.

Eric lifted his head from the now-desiccated corpse, sniffing the air. He turned to Sookie, his lips still curled into a snarl and blood running from his chin in long rivulets. The raw hunger in his stare her made her feel like a side of beef in a wolf pen. She took a ragged breath and scooted back against a tree.


End file.
